The audience laughs, but I sink back into my seat, hoping to go undetected.
If I sneak away to the bathroom, Josie will continue raising my paddle. But given that stupid man has rigged this whole thing, I don’t think I even have a choice.
"Act like you want it, Olive. Get rowdy with the old lady trying to take your man. And most of all, do not. Back. Down."
Even if I wanted to, the look in Josie’s eyes tells me I can’t.
"This is your chance to show the label that you are not—"
"Boring?" I cross my arms over my chest. "I know." If I were a man on stage with just my guitar and nothing else, people would view me as talented and unique. But apparently, they just want me to shake my ass on stage to get people’s attention, and do it all again night after night.
Sighing, I scrape the paddle off of my lap and rise to my feet, right as Josie whispers just loud enough for me to hear, "Remember, he’s paying for it."
Like I can forget.
But before I can get a word out, the host turns to me, lifting the mic with a grin. "Avery Jones, join me on stage to find out who made the winning bid on your date."
God damnit.
Silence floats around the room, whispers coming to a halt, while pure fear captures me as I hear the legs of Avery’s chair scrape against the ground.
My eyes remain lockedon the front of the stage, waiting with bated breath for him to appear.
I want to run my clammy hands down my dress, but I fear it’ll leave obvious sweat stains, so instead, I clamp the paddle with both hands.
The sound of his shoes tap against the steps of the stage before the spotlight shines on him, his forearm used to shield his eyes.
He stands there, his feet a shoulder width apart, with his hands clenched in fists by his sides. He shakes his head at the host. I see his mouth move, but I’m not a lip reader. Whatever it is, I know he’s just as pissed as I am. And when the host says something back, Avery’s eyes find mine. Only then do I remember I’ve been standing this whole time, while everyone else has remained seated.
Well, me and the woman whose voice I’d now be able to pick anywhere.
"Well?" she says loudly, and I find the courage to look over my shoulder at her. She’s older—mid-fifties if I had to guess—but there’s no mistaking her beauty. Her blonde hair is shoulder-length and wavy, but the distance between us makes it hard to determine her eye color.
The enormous ruby necklace sitting on her collarbone tells me she has more money than I’ll ever see in this lifetime. Going by the gentleman at her side tugging her arm to force her to sit back down, I assume she’s willing to drain his bank account dry. She shakes herself from his grip, crossing her arms over her chest.
"It seems we have a tie." The host beams, and I swear Avery’s eye twitches. I can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of my lips.
How can you have a tie at an auction, where the purpose is to raise money for a charity?
"Though that seems a bit ridiculous. I have a feeling if we don’t settle this, these women will be at it all night." His laughter into the microphone drowns out the crowd doing the same.
"Spit it out, Davis!" Somebody shouts from a table behind me, and a sneaky look over my shoulder tells me it was the man with Avery at my show last night.
The host laughs again. "I cannot, in good conscience, take more than what the two of you are bidding for a single date with this guy right here. Not that he isn't worth it." He grips Avery’s shoulder. I can tell it’s taking every ounce of willpower for Avery not to leave the room and sulk.
"So what will it be?" The woman behind me asks.
My feet remain firmly planted on the floor, aching in the heels I was told I hadto wear. I realize I haven’t said a single word since Avery took the stage.
"He needs to choose," the words leap out of my throat like I’ve cast them into the ocean, waiting for so much as a bite from the biggest fish in the sea. "It’s her, or me."
God, why did I just say that?
I swallow what feels like a boulder, hard and fast, squaring my shoulders to make it look like I meant every word. When in reality, I could—and would— walk out of this room and never think about it again.
If I didn’t have Thing 1 and Thing 2 beside me, forcing my hand for the sake of my career, I probably would have.
"Make him choose! Make him choose! Make him choose!" The crowd chants, fists banging against tables, cutlery colliding with glassware, and I swear I hear one shatter.
